Page 4 of I Do, or Dye Trying

I felt much lighter after my realization. I decided I could go home for my favorite two F’s when I heard someone calling my name behind me. I stopped and let Emory catch up to me.

“Are we okay?” he asked me.

“We’re fine, Emory,” I assured him and meant it. What Emory did the night before was done out of concern for his new friends. It was hard to be upset with him when he was only looking out for Gabe. “We expect to see you at dinner tonight. Gabe is grilling chicken and plans to wow us with his grandmother’s barbecue sauce recipe. Telling him that death is coming for him is okay, but missing out on his special sauce isn’t cool.” Emory paled, and I immediately regretted my brashness. “Not that kind of ‘special sauce.’ Only I get that,” I said teasingly, trying to undo the damage I caused.Filter, dumb ass. Use a filter.

Emory chuckled a little, but I could tell he was doing it more for my benefit than his. “I have a feeling that I don’t want to miss it,” he replied.

“I see what you did there.”

I liked his little play on words. Emory was guarded when he moved in next door, and my nearly-hostile attitude hadn’t helped, so it was nice to see a bit of personality shine through. I’d witnessed his gut-wrenching pain the day I went to his house after he missed his hair appointment at my salon. I held him in my arms while he sobbed over the loss of his husband that occurred years before and the sorrow he felt after seeing a vision of himself with another man. I firmly believed what I told Gabe after Emory’s revelation. Emory wasn’t in Blissville to save Gabe, he was there to be saved by Jonathon Silver.

“Can I please bring something? Wine? Side dish? I’m not helpless in the kitchen. I can’t match your skills, but few people can.”

I liked Emory even more. “No wine sales on Sunday here, but you can feel free to bring whatever you like. I’m going to make potato salad, baked beans, and corn on the cob. How about a dessert?” I asked him.

“How does strawberry shortcake sound to you? I’m talking homemade, not that spongy, Twinkie-like substance people pass off as shortcake.”

“You’re my kind of people, Emory. That sounds delicious.”

We set off together on a jog once the decision was made. Emory was a tad taller than me, but our strides were equally paced, and it was a pleasant experience. Gabe preferred to lift weights over cardio and Chaz preferred to spin over running. Neither of us had anything to say so we ran in easy silence rather than fill it with nonsense. That’s how you knew you were comfortable in someone’s presence.

We parted at our driveways with a small wave. Buddy and I eagerly ran up the steps once we got a whiff of bacon after I unlocked the back door. Sure enough, Gabe was standing at the stove making breakfast.

“Did you have a good run?” Gabe asked without turning away from his task, which was good because he was cooking in his underwear. Sounds hot, right? In fantasies, it sure as hell was, but in reality, it made me shiver, but not in a good way. Bacon grease is very hot and not what you want to be splattered on your bare chest or cock and balls. His designer briefs were thin and offered no real protection from sizzling, popping grease, but they offered me one hell of a view. Oh yeah, my eyes locked on those firm, round ass cheeks and I imagined myself grabbing onto them while he pounded away inside me or even spread apart to receive my cock. “Josh, you’re making my dick hard by staring at my ass.”

I snapped out of my daydream long enough to respond. “Your dick is always hard.” My gaze wandered up the broad expanse of his back to take in the wide shoulders where I often rested my calves while he…

“Josh!”

“I can’t help myself and don’t pretend like you didn’t wear that to get this exact reaction from me,” I said, marching over to the coffee pot to pour myself a cup. “Hey, can I have one of those Ninja coffee bar things Sofia raves about in our new house?”

“Who’s Sofia?” Gabe asked.

Just because he was gay didn’t excuse him from not knowing the world’s most beautiful woman. “Gabe, I just don’t know what to do with you sometimes.” I shook my head sadly for emphasis, which he didn’t see because he was still paying close attention to the bacon. And who could blame him with his magic wand and beans so close to the fiery pits of hell? “Sofia Vergara, Gabe. She’s an actress and is married to Joe Man…”

“Oh,her.” I didn’t like his tone, not one bit. It was the same one I’d heard rolling off the lips of every jealous woman in my salon as they cattily tore her down when she and Joe started dating. I thought they were a beautiful couple and I was happy for them. Only people who wanted Joe for themselves sounded bitter.

“Awwww, did she steal your man from you?” I asked mockingly. “Is he your celebrity crush?” Six months ago, the thought of Gabe crushing on a big, muscular guy would’ve sent me into a panic. Not anymore because I was certain of two things: there was nothing wrong with the way I was, and Gabe was crazy in love with me.

“Was,” Gabe confessed sheepishly.

“Awww, you dumped him because of me,” I cooed as I moved closer to him, but not so close that the grease was going to get me. He was cooking his meat on too high of a temperature and endangering my favorite meat in the process.

“It was because he got married. I don’t lust after married people. It just feels wrong.”

I shook my head sadly; it looked like he had further to go than I realized. I had three months to whip him into perfect husband material, which I didn’t think would be too difficult since he was already within striking distance of perfection. “Gabe, as much as I appreciate your honesty, there are times when it doesn’t hurt you to stretch the truth just a tiny bit.”

He whipped his head around to gauge if he’d screwed up. “He got married a year before I met you, Josh. Had I met you first, that would’ve been the reason I gave.” He looked pretty damn smug about his smooth recovery.

“Nicely played,” I told him as I gestured to the frying pan with my hand so that he’d pay attention.

Gabe chuckled and turned his focus back to cooking. “Are you worried I’ll burn down your house or scratch the nonstick surface of your pan?” He held up the tongs that had a silicone coating on the bottom and around the edges. “Your skillet is safe.”

“I was more concerned about your cock and balls getting splattered with hot grease,” I told him. “Take a damn step back or something.”

“You don’t find this sexy?” Gabe asked, sounding a bit pouty.

“Of course, I find it sexy, but that doesn’t mean I want you to risk your safety.”